Round and Round
by bemusedbicycle
Summary: Emma is a princess in the Enchanted Forest. Killian works in the kitchens. They are best friends and Emma is desperately trying to convince herself that's all she feels towards him. Lieutenant Duckling (Young!Emma/Killian) AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Part 1 of 3. Thank you for reading!**

Her shoulders burn as she swings the sword high above her head, bringing it down hard, missing her target as he leans quickly to the right. Lancelot shoots her a look.

"You're distracted."

She isn't distracted, she's angry. Killian was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago and naturally he's late. It was bad enough he ditched her last night. She thought he had been hurt as she waited for him down at the docks. It wasn't until it had started raining that she decided to head back to the castle, just a little but worried.

She had been pinning her hair back in her quarters this morning when she heard two of the castle maids giggling madly. She was intent on ignoring them, but then she had heard his name. She had leaned closer and heard all about how _amazing_ he was the previous night. All the _things_ he had done.

Instead of meeting her.

But she is _not_ jealous. She is pissed that he ditched her to catch diseases from some trashy maid. And she is pissed that he is late, again, this morning.

She huffs and spins, aiming a hit that Lancelot easily blocks. Her sword catches in his and he pushes her back, causing her to stumble over her own feet. He spins his sword, but says nothing, circling her slowly. She feels frustration well up inside her, but bites it back. She swings again. He blocks her, twists her arm, and flings her sword to the edge of the courtyard.

He sighs heavily. "You're letting your emotions get the better of you. Use it, Emma."

She rolls her eyes and he raises his eyebrows. He nods to her sword. "Pick it up, let's go again."

Sometimes she really hates Lancelot.

She walks over to her sword and picks it up, spinning quickly, hoping to catch him off guard. He chuckles as he moves, deflecting her blow.

"Where is Killian?"

Emma feels the frustration hit her like a wave as she frowns, ducking under a swing and kicking her leg out. Lancelot easily steps over her and lightly taps her ankle with the flat edge of his sword. She twists and slides back, repositioning herself.

"I have a few theories." She steps forward and swings hard, aiming for his rib cage. He blocks her. Again. She turns and swings but even she knows it's a sloppy hit. Lancelot once again twists his arm sharply and her sword flies away. He brings the point of his weapon to the base of her throat and regards her carefully, his dark brown eyes deadly. No wonder her mother wanted her to take lessons from him.

"You're letting your emotions rule your movements. I've killed you three times." He drops his sword to the grass and leans on it, his eyes losing the intensity. "Channel the feeling. Use it to power you, not direct you."

His eyes drift over her shoulder. "Glad you could grace us with your presence, Jones."

Emma's face tightens as she turns and regards Killian. He is leaning against the gate to the courtyard, arms and ankles crossed casually. His blue eyes are bright and a sly grin tugs at his lips. His dark hair is an absolute mess on top of his head and she rolls her eyes, walking over to her sword and retrieving it. She has a few theories on how his hair got like that too.

"I do believe the Swan is more needing of your lesson today, m'lord." He pushes off the wall and unsheathes his sword. "The way she's bumbling around like a bloody loon."

Emma looks to Lancelot and he grins at her, big and wide, no doubt seeing the look in her eyes. He nods his head and opens his arms, gesturing for her to take the floor.

She steps forward and Killian mockingly bows, his eyes staying with hers. Hot anger rushes through her and she steps to the left, swinging at his midsection. He snaps up quickly and blocks her blow, chuckling. She hears Lancelot huff from somewhere behind her.

"Feeling feisty today, eh love?" He swipes by her ankles and she jumps quickly, falling back on the balls of her feet and using the momentum to swing hard. Her blade clashes with his and she is satisfied when he loses his footwork. She grins.

"You have no idea."

She pulls back and swings again, forcing him to duck. She takes advantage of his lowered position and kicks out, hitting him in the knee and forcing him to fall face-first into the dirt. She laughs loud as he pushes himself back up, scowl etched on his face. He locks eyes with her, blue eyes glinting dangerously.

"You'll pay for that, pet."

She bounces on her feet and mock pouts. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Jones."

"Oh, I intend to keep this one." He spins and swings and she is forced to bring her blade up in front of her to block it, her arm ringing with the vibrations of metal against metal.

Anger seeps into her veins. "Didn't know you were capable of keeping promises." She grits out, her teeth clenched.

He quirks an eyebrow at her, frown deepening before swinging again, hitting the outside of her thigh with the blunt edge of his sword.

"Focus, Emma!" Lancelot barks behind her and she bites her tongue. "Use it!"

Killian smiles at the command, very aware of how often Lancelot encourages them to compartmentalize, and falls back. She follows, ducking under his swing and then pushing out, spinning herself. She lands a solid hit against his sword, but he uses the leverage to twist his arm with hers and pull her close. She stumbles into him, his face so close she can feel his breath on her nose.

"Yes, love." His free hand grips her hip teasingly. "_Use_ it."

His tone is all innuendo and she sees red. She drops her sword and uses both hands to push him forcefully away from her. Then she does something that surprises all three of them.

She punches him right in the face.

He drops his sword and stumbles, his hand flying to his left eye where she caught him. "Bloody hell, woman!"

She regards him coolly, eyebrow arched, hand throbbing. She turns her back to him and looks at Lancelot. His eyes are wide but she can see he is struggling to fight a smile.

"How is that for channeling my emotions?"

He loses the battle and chuckles. "Very well done, Princess. I think we can call it a day."

She returns his grin and sheaths her sword, not even bothering to look at Killian as she walks past him and back into the castle. She flexes her hand as she walks, tilting her head at the dull pain that radiates through her fingers. She has barely started up the stairs when she hears rapid footsteps behind her.

"Swan!" She keeps walking. His footsteps quicken.

"Hey!" He grabs her arm on a lunge and she almost tumbles down the stairs. Her hand grips the railing as she rights herself and turns to face him.

"What the hell?" She hisses and smacks his hand away from her arm.

"Don't 'what the hell' me, you're not the one who got a black eye for no bloody reason!"

"Stop being dramatic, you do not have a black eye." She sighs. But as she looks at him, she can already tell that he will indeed have a black eye. She bites her lip in an effort to stop her smile. His eyes follow the movement but they are back on hers so fast she is convinced it was her imagination. She would roll her eyes at herself if she wasn't afraid they'd roll right out of her head.

"Care to explain what I did to warrant such harsh treatment at the hands of a lady?" He spits the word lady like a curse word. That wipes the amusement from her face and she continues up the stairs. She hears him fall into step behind her.

"We were practicing."

"Love, we have had sword lessons together for five years, and you have never once punched me in the face. Would you stop for just a moment?" He sighs heavily and reaches forward again, tugging lightly on the back belt loop that holds her sword sheathe around her waist. "And tell me what the bloody hell has gotten into you today."

She spins so fast she almost knocks him down the stairs. "You! You have gotten into me!" His eyebrows shoot up and a cocky grin plasters itself over his stupid face and she slaps her hand over his mouth. "Shut up." If possible, his eyebrows rise further. "You know, I don't care what you do or who you do it with, but don't waste my time in the process."

His eyebrows cinch together as his forehead crinkles. She removes her hand from his mouth and he looks like he is about to speak, so she plows on. "You easily could have told me yesterday afternoon that you no longer wanted me to meet you at the docks. I don't particularly enjoy standing in the rain waiting for someone who has no intention of showing up."

Realization dawns in his eyes and he reaches forward. "Swan, listen, I-"

"And I would very much appreciate it if you didn't fuck the castle maids, particularly the ones who serve in my quarters." His eyes grow wide as the vulgar world tumbles from her lips and he visibly pales. "I have no desire to hear about your conquests as I get ready for my day."

She looks at him as he opens and closes his mouth a couple times. Killian Jones, rendered speechless. Well, that sure as hell was a first.

Her heart clenches painfully and she forcefully reminds herself to get it together. He is her friend, her best friend, and that is all he will ever be. All he wants to be. All _she _wants to be. She nods as the anger leaves her and she just feels exhausted.

"My father is waiting on me." She says quietly. He is still staring at her with an abject look of horror on his face.

"I'm sorry I punched you in the face." And with that she turns around and hurries up the steps, moving as fast as her tired legs will carry her. She finds the door to her father's study easily and slips in, careful to not disturb him at his desk. He looks up anyway, a soft smile replacing the look of surprise.

"What can I do for you?"

She collapses into the large, worn leather chair on the opposite side of his desk and huffs out a short breath.

"Do you mind if I sit here, for just a bit? I'll stay quiet."

"Stay as long as you'd like." His kind eyes search her face and she blinks back openly, not one to hide from her father. David is very perceptive when he wants to be. He apparently finds what he is looking for because he gives her a small, indulgent smile before turning back to the open log on his desk. Emma reaches forward and pulls the large book of maps he keeps on the corner onto her lap, letting her fingers dance over the worn leather of the cover.

They sit just like that for a long stretch of time, Emma regarding the extensive maps of both her own realm and others, her dad sitting at his desk, scribbling into his log every so often. It isn't until the sun begins to set and colorful light dances along the office walls that Emma puts the book down. She closes her eyes and tilts her head back just as the door to the office opens.

"Why is Killian sulking around the kitchens with a black eye?" Her mother's voice is airy and light and she brings with her the scent of freshly baked bread. She must have been down in the kitchens, helping prepare for dinner.

"The same reason our daughter has swollen knuckles, I daresay."

Her father. Very perceptive.

She tilts her head back up just in time to see her parents exchange a meaningful look. David absentmindedly rubs the scar on his chin, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Snow returns the smile, her eyes soft and very much in love before she perches on the edge of the desk. She reaches for Emma's hand, running her fingers over the bruised skin lightly. She quirks one dark eyebrow.

"Do you wish to talk about it?"

Emma sighs. "Not even a little bit."

Her dad chuckles and she knows the subject is dropped. She bites her lip and looks down, fiddling with the sheath of her sword.

"Could I have the maids removed from my quarters? I think I'm old enough to make my own bed."

The heavy silence means they are exchanging another silent conversation and she bites her lip harder. Sometimes witnessing their _true love_ was less inspiring, and more irritating. She glances up and her father is looking at her thoughtfully. Her gaze flickers to her mother who is frowning softly. But she seems to catch herself and gives Emma a serene smile.

"Of course, dear. Not a problem at all."


	2. Chapter 2

**Looks like Part 2 got away from me a bit. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

She trudges down the small slope that leads to the castle gates and wraps her cloak around her a little tighter. Autumn has come quickly this year, a light breeze tangling with her hair and causing her loose curls to brush against her face. She smiles in the moonlight and breathes deep, letting the fresh air wash over her.

She nods at the castle guards stationed at the gate and they exchange a glance before nodding back. A grin pulls at her lips. "Relax, my parents know where I'm headed this time."

They both sag with relief and she chuckles lightly. The tavern she is intent on spending her evening in is situated in the middle of the village and is maintained by the dwarves. And while her father doesn't like her going alone, her mother likes to argue that she is safer there than within the walls of the castle.

Seven overprotective godfathers armed with pickaxes tended to make a girl feel secure.

She pulls up her hood against the chill as she walks the familiar path to the tavern, her mind drifting to dark hair and blue eyes almost unconsciously. She visibly winces and stops dead in the street, shaking her head hard.

She will not think of him.

She has successfully avoided him for the past three days, going down to the kitchens when she knew he wasn't working, not even bothering to go anywhere near the docks. Going to the tavern is a definite risk, but she can't avoid him forever.

She doesn't miss him.

She sighs and ducks into the warm light of the tavern, a smile tugging at her lips as raucous noise washes over her. Grumpy is behind the bar and she decides to slide onto an empty stool instead of going for her usual booth. She doesn't even let her eyes drift over to it, her heart jumping up to her throat at the idea that _he_ could very-well be sitting there.

She doesn't care if he is.

"What'll it be, Princess? Last time I gave you rum, the King practically beheaded me in the town square." Grumpy is glaring at her but his eyes are dancing and she gives him a wide grin.

She leans forward, elbows resting on the bar. "What Dad doesn't know, won't hurt him." She whispers conspiratorially, ending her sentence with a wink. Grumpy laughs deeply and she is pleased with herself for garnering such a reaction. Grumpy is no casual nickname.

"You remind me of your mother during her bandit days." He grabs the bottle of rum from under the bar and pours her a healthy glass. She smiles at him warmly, the glass cradled between her hands. He pours himself a glass and knocks it against hers.

"To family." Her chest warms at the sureness of his words and she nods.

"To family." She responds softly and takes a sip of her rum. He winks before disappearing to the other side of the bar, smacking Happy on the back of the head on his way.

"You've been avoiding me." She jumps at the lilting voice suddenly in her ear.

She turns her head to find Killian resting with his back against the bar, elbows casually leaning against the worn wood. The skin around his eye has turned a sickly purple color, making his eyes appear even _bluer_, if possible, and she snorts into her glass. Naturally her mind would go there.

He peers down at her, clearly unamused. "Something funny?"

She sighs and finally meets his gaze, green eyes locking on blue. He looks at her carefully for a moment before his whole face relaxes. He mirrors her sigh, turns and slides into the stool next to her.

He picks at the wood of the bar in silence and then abruptly reaches over her arms and grabs her glass.

"Hey!" She goes to snatch it back but he pulls it to his lips and takes a large gulp, quirking an eyebrow at her in challenge. She rolls her eyes as he hands it back to her with a mock bow.

"You know, we are in a bar. You could quite easily get your own."

He rubs his fingers across his lips as his eyes shoot to Grumpy, slamming bottles around and glaring at the customers.

"I do think I'll wait until your godfather is a bit more hospitable." He turns his attention to her and she can practically feel his gaze on the side of her face. She does her best to remain passive, sipping gently at her rum.

"You've been avoiding me." He says again, gentler this time. She fights the urge to slam back the rest of her drink and just reach under the bar for the bottle. He always was good at reading her, even when they were little. Not that she had been particularly stealthy with her avoidance of him, but nonetheless -

"I didn't know she was assigned to your quarters." His voice is so earnest, so unsure, so unlike _himself,_ that she freezes. It's an admission that he did indeed sleep with one of her maids and she feels her stomach drop to somewhere in her toes. She feels her walls come up hard and her heart squeezes tight that she has to put them up with him.

Grumpy chooses that moment to return to their side of the bar and she gives him a tight smile when his eyes dart back and forth between her and Killian. She throws back the rest of her drink and slides her glass to the edge.

"I'll have another, please. And he will have one of his own." She shoots Killian a pointed look and he relaxes fractionally, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He knows that if she's bringing the sass, he's at least a little bit forgiven. Grumpy fills their drinks and moves down the line, shooting Killian a wary look over his shoulder.

Emma sighs. "Listen, I meant it, when I said I don't care who you choose to spend your time with." _Or what you do with them_. She decides not to add that last part, the words getting caught in her throat. She soldiers on, steadfastly ignoring his gaze. "Just give me a heads up next time, so I don't wait around?"

_Alone. _

_In the rain._

Her mind is not really helping at the moment.

He winces at the reminder that he left her alone while he was engaging in other _activities_.

"Aye." He scratches the back of his head and fumbles with his glass. "I'm sorry, lass, that was, uh-" And it is so unlike him to stutter and lose his words that she finally turns to look at him. He is frowning, eyes shifting back and forth. He sighs and looks at her. "That was bad form. I'm truly sorry, Emma."

She knows he means it. Not only because he used her first name but because she knows he would never intentionally leave her alone. He knows what that feels like.

But he still did. And it still hurts. She reinforces her walls as he looks at her and the frown grows deeper, blue eyes searching. He opens his mouth and his hand reaches forward, eyebrows cinching together.

"Emma!"

Ruby's voice calls over the loud chatter of the tavern and she tears her gaze away from Killian, looking over the now crowded room to see Ruby, Victor and Baelfire huddled together at a table. Ruby grins and beckons them over and Emma forces a smile.

She grabs her glass and his arm, pulling him off his stool, determined to get things back to normal between them. She gives him a small smile and he forces one back. It'd have to do.

"Come on, Ruby doesn't like to be kept waiting."

**-/-**

She laughs loud, pushing Baelfire hard on the shoulder.

"He did not!"

Baelfire grins wide, taking a swig of his drink, nodding eagerly. She laughs again, clutching her stomach as tears gather in her eyes. Bae leans into her side heavily and her laughter fades into an easy smile, welcoming the warmth. While she is feeling a pleasant buzz from the rum, Bae is quite obviously drunk off his ass.

It's kind of cute.

"I think its time for you to be off, mate." Emma snaps her eyes up to Killian across the table and he is glaring daggers at Baelfire. She arches an eyebrow at him in question but he avoids her gaze by steadily trying to set fire to Bae with his eyes.

Bae leans up off her shoulder and nods slowly, seemingly realizing his level of drunkenness in the moment. "Yeah, I think you're right."

He grins lazily and attempts to stand, but stumbles back down into his seat, leaning into her once again. He rests his forehead against her shoulder and sighs heavily, like getting up and _moving_ is possibly the hardest things he has ever had to do.

She laughs and grips his arm, standing and pulling him with her. He looks at her with big brown eyes and tilts his head. "You're pretty." He says.

Oh yes, he is definitely drunk.

She rolls her eyes but can't help the blush that stains her cheeks, drunken compliment or no. Killian makes an odd noise but she ignores it, instead focusing on maneuvering Baelfire out of his chair and around the table. "Come on, Drunky. I should head back to the castle. I can drop you off on the way."

She picks up her cloak as Ruby tosses Baelfire his coat. He doesn't even try to catch it, letting it fall on the floor as he stares at Emma with big eyes. "You'll walk me home?"

She grins. "Yes, now let us go before you pass out and I leave you to the dwarves." She raises both eyebrows expectantly and he picks up his coat, slipping it on (backwards, but she will take what she can get).

Killian stands abruptly. "I'll walk with you." He shoots Ruby a glare when she snickers behind her hand.

Emma looks at him curiously. "I can take him by myself, you can stay." _Find someone to go home with_.

She wants to roll her eyes at herself but instead she settles for a heavy sigh. Baelfire leans against her and she stumbles. Killian gives her a pointed look.

"And what, drag him home when he inevitably passes out on you?" His face softens as he shrugs on his jacket. "Plus, he lives on the opposite side of the orchards. I'm sure His Highness, the King would have some choice words for me if I let you walk through them alone at night."

He steps over to them, pulling one of Baelfire's arms over his shoulder. Baelfire really looks about a minute away from passing out, and there is no way she can get him home if he does. Killian smirks at the acceptance written all over her face and they make their way to the exit.

Grumpy waves off her attempts to pay the tab and she sneaks in a quick kiss to his cheek before Killian grumbles something about 'heavy, drunk, buggering idiots' and they walk out the door.

They move slow through the town and Baelfire passes out completely at the start of the orchards, so Emma has to slip under his other arm and help Killian tow him through. She laughs loudly at Killian's furious grumbling, his curse words a steady litany through the dark groves of trees.

They eventually get him to his home, dropping him unceremoniously on the doorstep. Killian gives her a wicked smile and knocks loudly before grabbing her arm and sprinting back into the trees.

She laughs loudly as they weave through the trees and he turns quickly, putting his hand against her mouth. She laughs harder and he smiles down at her, his grin bright and boyish.

"Hush, wouldn't want the Royal Princess to get caught." He waggles his eyebrows and she licks his hand. He yelps and pulls it away, giving her an affronted look.

"Some royal you are."

She pokes him hard in the chest and gives him a mock glare. "And don't you forget it."

He swats her hand away and gives her another wide grin. She sighs, happy. This is nice. This is what she wanted. Them, back to normal. Laughing, joking.

So naturally she decides to do something that will ruin it all over again.

He is looking at her earnestly, his eyes losing their playful mirth and fading into something serious. He has been looking at her like that a lot lately. Mostly when he thinks she isn't looking, but she manages to catch him all the same. She still doesn't know what it means, but it makes her heart do an almost painful flop in her chest, and suddenly, she wants to kiss him.

But she can't. Because he is her friend.

Screw it.

She grabs him roughly by the lapels of his jacket and pulls him to her, her mouth landing on his clumsily. He freezes beneath her lips and for a terrible moment, she thinks he's going to push her away. Unwilling to back down (as _always_) she continues to kiss him, his lips soft against hers. She takes his bottom lip between hers and tilts her head, practically begging him to respond.

_This is stupid, this is stupid, this is stupid. _

Her mind is running frantic and her hands are shaking so she slides them forward so they are resting on the bare skin on his neck. He shudders beneath her and his lips move fractionally against hers. Her heart pounds in her chest.

She slips her mouth open and runs her tongue along the seam of his lips, desperate for more. She wants to taste, to consume. He tastes like rum and salt and she hums quietly into his mouth with pleasure, _knowing_ he would taste like that. _Knowing _he would be this intoxicating.

His head ducks down as his mouth opens fully against hers and her belly clenches as his tongue tentatively tangles with hers.

He lets out a strangled moan and then suddenly, he moves.

His hands find purchase on her hips and he takes a strong step forward - one, two - and then her back is pushed up hard against one of the apple trees. She gasps into his mouth and his tongue sweeps forward, sliding against hers, hand moving from her hip to her face, angling her head to the side to plunge deeper.

Hot, hot heat coils in her stomach and she is _desperate_. She needs _more_. Of what, she is not entirely sure, but she craves it with every part of her. She fists her hand in his hair, pulling on the thick strands, pulling him even further into her. His hand clenches and unclenches on her hip before sliding down her thigh to the back of her knee. A trail of white hot fire follows his hand and her heart is racing.

He pulls up on her knee and she wraps her leg instinctively around him, her hips falling open, his own falling perfectly in line with hers. She nips at his lip and he growls, pushing his hips forward hard.

And this, she think idly, somewhere far in the back of her lust-clouded brain, this is not unlike their training lessons. With obvious exception, of course.

Her mouth drops open when he moves to her neck, teeth scraping against her pulse point, the hand not holding her head in place sliding slowly up her thigh. The heat is coiling tighter and damnit, she needs-

She shifts her hips against him, and _oh gods_, that is what she needs.

She can _feel_ him. All of him. And it feels so damn good.

She circles her hips again and he bites down on the soft skin between her neck and shoulder. She moans, sounding breathy and wanton and loud in the dark orchard.

He stills against her.

She can feel the hammering in his chest against hers, his labored breathing against her neck. Her eyes slide open and her gaze tilts to the stars, twinkling bright in the cloudless sky. Her mind is deliciously silent as she breathes him in. His thumb brushes against the skin of her throat as leans back, resting his forehead against hers for a moment, their breath coming out harsh and uneven. His nose grazes hers and her eyes drift shut, her hands flat against his chest.

His lips are soft on hers as he ducks down to kiss her again and the heat gives way to a warm glow, starting in her chest and spreading out.

He releases her leg and it falls to her side shakily, causing her to tilt to the right. He chuckles into the kiss and finds her hips again, righting her before she can fall.

She blinks up at him and he smiles down at her, tucking a blonde curl behind her ear. "I should get you home."

He gazes at her for a moment more, his blue eyes flickering all over her face, the look he was giving her before the kiss more intense and concentrated. But then he shakes his head slightly and its gone. He nods towards the castle. He steps back and she follows the warmth of his body almost unconsciously, falling in step with him easily.

They walk in silence, but its comfortable.

She doesn't know who takes whose hand, but his fingers are warm against hers.

Maybe she didn't mess anything up. Maybe she made everything better. She bites back a grin and they're suddenly at the castle gates. He brings her knuckles to his lip sand gives them a chaste kiss, before giving her a saucy wink, turning, and disappearing down the road.

She laughs breathlessly as she runs back up the hill to the castle.

She falls asleep with a grin.

**-/-**

She finds him in the kitchens the next morning, sleeves rolled up, face in intense concentration as he peels potatoes. His fingers move nimbly as he skins the potatoes with a knife before tossing them in a waiting barrel. She watches his hands and thinks about what he was doing with them last night, her face going hot.

"Hey." He jumps at her voice, gaze shooting up from the potatoes. His eyes are wary and bloodshot, and her smile drops, just a little.

She peers around the kitchen but it seems like he is the only one there. "Where's Granny?"

Killian looks back down at his potatoes, frowning deeply, twisting the knife in his hand. "We apparently need more potatoes."

Emma looks at the pile of potatoes on the table, and then the very large sack at his feet. "Are potatoes the only thing on the menu tonight?"

He doesn't acknowledge her question. In fact, he seems very lost in his own world again. She frowns and walks over to the table, ducking her head down to meet his gaze.

"Hey, are you alri-"

"I'm sorry I kissed you!" He blurts and she jumps at the sudden declaration. He runs his hand roughly through his hair and she shakes her head, confused.

"What?" He looks up at her and his whole body seems to sag. He looks _miserable_.

He puts down the knife and walks around to her side of the table. He sighs heavily, crossing his arms. "I'm sorry I kissed you." She blinks at him and he stares back. "I shouldn't have done that."

He's sorry. He's _sorry_? She kissed _him_. She was the one who initiated it. And he didn't seem sorry last night. In fact, he seemed pretty okay with the whole situation. Confused, she opens her mouth to question him when the door to the kitchen swings open and the maid that used to work in her quarters, _that_ maid, comes drifting in, holding several loaves of bread.

"Killian, do you know-"

She cuts off abruptly when she sees Emma, almost dropping her loaves of bread. Killian's eyes widen fractionally and dart between the two women quickly.

Oh.

_Oh._

Emma's cheeks go hot and she immediately looks down at the ground. She hears footsteps and then a door is quietly clicking shut. She assumes they had some sort of silent conversation because they are alone again and she feels absolutely _horrible_.

The silence is deafening.

"I'm sorry I forced myself on you." She whispers it as she looks at their feet on the ground. His boots are worn, he will probably need a new pair soon.

She can feel the pain rising up within her, clawing at her from the inside. She feebly tries to erect her walls but she can't. It's too much, too fast and she feels like she is spinning into a black pit of embarrassment.

"I think-" The tears finally tip over and she bites her lip, stubbornly refusing to look at him. She is so embarrassed, she just wants to crawl into a hole and never come out. "I think you should stay away from me for a while."

"Emma-" He breaks off and she can actually hear him swallow. "Emma, look at me." She shakes her head, watches as one of her tears falls on his boot. His hand slips under her hair and he angles her head up, forcing her to make eye contact.

Whatever he is going to say freezes in his mouth when he sees her tears. She knows he doesn't expect it because, hell, she certainly didn't. She doesn't cry often. His eyes widen and then slam shut, like he is in physical pain.

"I've made you _cry_."

She doesn't know what he wants her to say to that because yes, he is the reason she is standing in the kitchen, embarrassed as hell, tears falling down her cheeks. She pushes away the thought that she is absolutely _broken-hearted_ because that is a thought too painful to bear.

Her heart is not broken.

Her heart is not broken.

If she says it enough, maybe it will come true.

He is gazing at her with impossibly sad eyes and she pulls his hand away from her face. His fingers flex like he wants to reach back out, but she doesn't give him the chance.

"Please don't follow me." She turns on her heel and pushes out the kitchen door, biting her lip hard, forcing the sobs to stay in her throat. She is terrified that he will run after her, and she will be forced to have a complete breakdown in the middle of the hallway.

She hears footsteps behind her and she speeds up, pushing the back of her hand against her mouth, biting down on the skin. Everything is blurry as the tears come hard and fast and she breathes hard through her nose.

"Emma!" But its not the voice she is expecting as she turns the corner and Lancelot is behind her, turning her around with his strong hands on her shoulders. He seems just as surprised at her tears as Killian was and he scans her quickly, no doubt looking for injuries. A laugh comes out sounding more like a pitiful sob and his alarmed eyes snap back to hers.

"What is going on?" The fiery glint he sometimes got during her training is back and he looks ready to kill. His eyes flit back behind her to the kitchen entrance.

"I'm okay, I'm okay!" She says but even she knows she sounds hysterical. "I'm going to go to my quarters."

"I'll fetch your mother." She thinks about arguing but nods instead, knowing if left unoccupied, Lancelot would most likely connect the dots and behead Killian. And as mad and embarrassed and sad as she is, she doesn't want him dead.

Lancelot gives her upper arms a squeeze before he takes off in the opposite direction. Emma trudges the rest of the way to her room, thankfully avoiding any and all castle servants. She practically face-plants into her bed, not even bothering to remove her shoes.

She barely has time to start crying again before the door to her room swings open so hard, it bounces off the wall. She is mortified to see her father come charging into her room, sword in his hand. Her mother comes skidding down the hallway behind him, swinging quickly into her room, face flushed.

She looks at both of them for a startled moment before dropping her face into her hands and finally, finally letting herself cry. She is barely aware of Snow's hushed voice before the door to her room clicks shut and she is enveloped in the warm arms of her mother.

She sits up and pushes her hair away from her face, somewhat surprised to realize her father has left them alone. She takes a deep breath and her mother brushes her hand over her hair, letting her lean her head on her shoulder. Emma snuggles in, closes her eyes.

Of course Killian didn't want her. She had practically forced herself on him last night, pulling him to her and kissing him until he had responded. He was a man, of course he responded. It didn't mean anything.

Hot shame rolls through her body and she sighs, clenching her eyes shut. It hurts to think about.

But the way he had kissed her, the way he had held her -

No.

No more.

Killian doesn't want her. So she won't want him.

She does enjoy a challenge.


	3. Chapter 3

**I know I said three parts, but there will for sure be an epilogue because there was a lot more I just couldn't fit in here without it being absurdly long. As always, thank you for reading. The reaction I've gotten to this has been unbelievable. This fandom is a beautiful thing. **

* * *

Her mother and father are staring at her as she butters her toast. It's been like this all morning - quiet conversations, shifting glances. She sighs and puts down her knife, folding her hands together and looking at her father.

"Enough with the suicide watch. I'm fine."

The door to the kitchens opens at the end of the hall and her entire body locks down. Her eyes dart over to it and she relaxes marginally when Granny comes strolling through, balancing a tray on her hip. Her eyes dart back to her father and he gives her a pointed look.

"You are not fine."

She frowns and slumps in her seat, picking up her toast and shoving it in her mouth.

Snow sighs. "Your father is visiting a neighboring realm this afternoon to discuss a new trade agreement. I think you should go with him." Emma's head snaps up.

It wasn't uncommon for her to join her parents on trips to neighboring realms - royal duty and all that - but it was uncommon for her to join her father for something that was purely business. But part of her yearned for an excuse to leave the castle, anything to not have to deal with seeing him-

She aggressively grabs another piece of toast.

"But Snow-" Her father pauses and gives Granny a warm smile when she refills his tea. "I'll be gone for two weeks time."

Emma shifts in her seat, flinching when the door to the kitchen opens again. She sighs and relaxes back in her chair when Ruby swings in, holding a basket of pears. Ruby quirks an eyebrow at her, but she just shakes her head minutely. _Later_.

She turns her attention back to her parents. Her father is looking at her intently. He points at her with his spoon, wielding it like he does his sword. "You're coming with me."

**-/-**

King George is obstinate and rude and she hates him immediately. She watches as her father hides a subtle eye roll across the banquet table and fights her grin. She kicks him under the table and he coughs in surprise, his eyes filled with mirth.

"Everything alright, David?"

David schools his face into a neutral expression and Emma does her best to do the same. She knows she shouldn't mess with her father outside of the kingdom, especially when on business, but this week has been so _miserable_ she is forced to take comfort where she can.

"Frog in my throat." Her father smiles and King George looks appeased. His calculating eyes shift to Emma and she feels her stomach drop.

"So, my dear Princess-" She flinches at the title. "Your eighteenth birthday is approaching, yes?"

"Two weeks." Her father supplies quietly and his eyes are soft and kind and focused entirely on her. She gives him a soft smile as a light blush stains her cheeks. She turns her attention to the King.

"Yes, two weeks from today, actually."

King George nods as she carefully cuts the food on her plate. If she were at home, she could just use her hands, like a normal human being. Instead she was struggling to figure out how to eat a turkey leg like a _lady_.

"How interesting that we haven't received an invitation to your ball." His tone is careful and light but she can hear the offense there. Her eyes snap to her father and he is looking at her with a wary face. She knows what he is saying without words.

_Tread carefully_.

It was customary in most kingdoms to have a ball for any royal turning of age, specifically a ball in which an arranged marriage was proposed. Her parents, being the true love match that they were, had no intention of forcing their only daughter into a loveless marriage for political gain.

"I've heard tell that your rule is less than traditional, David." King George's refusal to use her father's title was not lost on Emma. "I must say that I am hesitant to engage in business with a kingdom so-" He sighs, eyes dancing back to Emma. "Revolutionary."

If King George's idea of traditional was anything like the way he ran his kingdom – cold, hard, merciless – she wanted nothing to do with _traditional_. She saw more than she cared to of starving children this week, homeless littering the streets. And the way he treated his servants –

She sighs and puts down her fork and knife.

"That would be my fault, actually." David's head snaps over to her so fast, she is surprised its still attached. His eyes are questioning. She gives him a tight smile before putting her princess face on and turning to King George.

"I've had the _most_ difficult time picking out the proper invitation design, I'm afraid we will now have to send out all invitations by personal courier."

King George looks at her carefully. "So you do intend to have a ball?"

"If she can ever decide on what she would like to wear, she will." David grumbles good-naturedly and she breathes out a sigh of relief as King George gives a hearty laugh.

"Delightful."

She almost snorts into her wine.

It is anything but.

After dinner, her father and King George disappear into his study. An hour later and her father is loading them into their carriage and Emma has never been happier to leave a place.

"Trade secured?" She asks when they are out on the road that will lead them home.

Her father nods. "Yes, thanks to you." He looks hesitant. "Are you sure you wish to go through with this ball idea?"

"I can't go back on my word now. Plus, one ball won't kill me. I'll play princess, dance with his son-"

"And every other eligible bachelor in the kingdoms." Her father growls.

She groans. "And every other eligible bachelor in the kingdoms." She parrots.

David tilts his head and regards her with sad eyes. "Your mother and I wished to spare you from this." He says quietly.

"I know." She sighs. "And this was my choice. If one night of misery for me means our kingdom's people can put food on the table for their families, then so be it."

He regards her carefully for a long silent moment before he cups her face in his hands and presses a gentle kiss to her forehead. She smiles softly and sighs, grateful that their carriage is taking them away from this kingdom.

"My daughter." He breathes out. He looks her in the eye and smiles. "You are going to make an excellent Queen."

She blushes and he winks, dropping his hands and folding his arms against his chest. He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the seat of the carriage.

"But I'm going to let you explain to your mother how she has to plan an entire ball with all the kingdoms in the next week."

She winces. Snow is going to be furious.

**-/-**

She stands outside the kitchen doors awkwardly. Rolling her eyes at herself, she pushes through the solid oak door and is suddenly hit with a wave of activity. She feels herself relax at the comforting commotion, her eyes immediately landing on him, like he's the center of her universe and she just orbits around him.

The kitchen is in full swing for dinner and he is chopping vegetables next to Granny. Her eyes scan the kitchen quickly and she is somewhat relieved to not see her maid, she has no desire to watch them interact with one another. He laughs loudly at something Granny says, his arms flexing as he reaches for another stack of vegetables. She feels her heart somersault and she reminds herself to get it under control.

She can do this.

She can do this.

"Hey, our princess has returned!" Someone shouts from the back and his eyes immediately find hers as the kitchen staff cheers. He blinks at her, surprised, and then a full, genuine grin splits his face.

Nope.

No.

She's an idiot. She can't do this.

She tucks her hair behind her ears, giving a timid wave to the kitchen staff as they return back to their tasks. She walks over to where he's working and Granny gives her a kind grin.

"We missed you, my dear." She reaches out and squeezes Emma's arm. She tilts her head to Killian. "This one wouldn't stop moping about. Maybe now that you've returned, he can get some work done again."

"Bugger off, you!" Killian flicks her, but he's still grinning. He looks up at Emma and his eyes dance with mischief. "I just thought the Swan had run off on an adventure without me."

He winks at her and she is so relieved that there is no awkwardness, that he has seemingly forgotten all about her emotional breakdown.

"Please, like I could go anywhere without you." She replies and maybe it's a bit too honest because his grin falters just a little, and his eyes go back to his vegetables.

Granny takes no notice, however, and comes sweeping around the table, ushering Emma out of the kitchens and into the dining hall. Her parents are already seated at the table and Snow smiles warmly at her daughter.

"I'm so glad to have you both back home." Snow looks to David and gives his hand a squeeze as Emma slides into her chair. Members of the kitchen staff come out and begin placing various dishes on the table. Granny puts down a basket of rolls before taking her place at the table.

"We all did." She winks at Emma and Emma feels her uneasiness at seeing Killian again fade away as the dinner conversation wraps around her. She hardly allows herself to be aware of him as he sweeps in and out of the kitchens, clearing plates and bringing in new dishes. He occasionally slides into a seat at the table, picking at some dishes, before Granny reminds him of one of his duties and he rolls his eyes, heading back into the kitchens.

Emma is lost in her own thoughts, reveling in the fact that she is eating a turkey leg with her _hands_ when a loud shriek causes her to jump. The dining hall goes silent and Emma looks up to see Snow looking at her with wide eyes. Her father sighs and shrugs at Emma and she immediately knows what this is about.

"Mom-"

"Don't Mom me." Snow mutters and _oh boy_ she is definitely in trouble. "You told King George you are having a suitor ball? And its in two weeks?"

She opens her mouth to respond but a loud crash interrupts her. Killian is standing at the door to the kitchen, his back to the table, broken plates at his feet. The entire table watches in silence as he mutters an oath (most likely _not_ dinner appropriate, she thinks idly) and bends to pick up the shards. She turns her attention back to her mother.

"I'm sorry, but I hardly had a choice." Snow is still looking at her expectantly. "King George was oddly persistent about it, talking about being _traditional_." She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. "He has a son my age, I think he wants to _bridge our kingdoms_." She waggles her eyebrows and her father laughs, loud and open because he knows she has absolutely zero intention of bridging anything with anyone.

There is another loud crash and Emma turns her head to see Killian staring at what should have been their dessert, face down on the floor of the dining hall. Granny sighs heavily and lifts herself out of her chair.

"I apologize your highnesses, I believe we have another cake somewhere."

Killian looks up and she is shocked at the fury etched across his face. His eyes meet hers for a brief moment before he turns and storms back into the kitchen.

She looks back at her parents just as David raises both of his eyebrows to Snow. She shrugs, a tiny smile tugging at her mouth but its gone as soon as they both realize Emma is looking at them.

Snow picks up her tea. "I'm making you wear the most _horrible_ dress."

**-/-**

She is brushing her hair in her quarters when she hears an odd scraping noise coming from her balcony. She turns in her chair and regards the open window curiously when suddenly, Killian is tumbling through it.

He lands face first on the floor of her room and lies motionless, chest heaving. She stands and shuffles over to him, heart beating madly in her chest. She turns him over and he winces, sweat mopping his brow.

"What the hell are you doing?"

He cracks one blue eye open and gives her a wry grin. "That was much easier when I was younger."

She sighs with relief and helps pull him up. When they were younger, he used to sneak into her quarters almost every night and they would play make-believe. They would have furious sword fights - pretend they were pirates on the high seas. Often times they would fall asleep together on the floor and she would wake up, back in her bed, a mop of messy black hair tickling her nose. Perhaps her parents just thought he would try to climb up again, so they tucked him in next to her.

"What are you doing here?"

He stands and she crosses her arms over her chest, very conscious of the fact that she is only wearing her dressing gown. She reaches behind her for her robe and he arches an eyebrow as she pulls it on.

"No need to get decent for me, darling." But his innuendo is lacking and he looks tired.

She rolls her eyes anyway, always eager to play this game with him. "The maid's quarters are two windows over."

It's a low blow, she knows it. He looks at her, shocked.

"I told you I was sorry about that."

She tilts her head at him and crosses her arms over her chest. "Actually, you didn't." He opens his mouth but she silences him with her hand. She sighs. She doesn't want to argue with him. "But you don't have to, I get it."

He narrows his eyes. "Get what?"

She sighs. "Why are you here?"

"What do you get?" He supplies.

"What do you want?" She counters.

She stares at him, hands on her waist. He taps his foot and huffs, waiting.

"I get that you don't want me like that." She says carefully and the words leave her mouth like razor blades, tearing her up from the inside out. It still hurts. It will always hurt. "And I'm sorry I forced myself on you."

He looks angry, his eyes dark. "You didn't force yourself on me, I'm a bloody grown adult and I _chose_ to kiss you back."

She feels her heart hammer in her chest and her hands start to shake. "What?"

"You heard me." He spits and yup, he is definitely angry.

"Then why-"

"Because you're a princess, Emma!" He roars and suddenly his blue eyes are furious. He stomps towards her and grips her wrist tight, almost bruising and yanks her to him. "I know you bloody-well hate it when anyone points it out to you, but fact of the matter is, you're a royal."

The way he says _royal_ causes her skin to crawl and she hates the look in his eyes. He is turning into someone she doesn't even recognize, right in front of her. He towers over her, her chest flush against his. And while this is certainly no time for _those _ kind of thoughts, her belly clenches involuntarily, remembering the last time they were pressed together like this.

"What's your point?" She mutters, her own anger causing her voice to be tight. His eyes scan her face and then he releases her, his hand coming to scrub angrily at the back of his head. She stumbles as he releases her, bringing her wrist to her chest protectively. He didn't hurt her, but her skin is burning where his fingers wrapped around her.

He frowns, eyes following the motion. "My point being, Emma." His eyes drift to hers and the anger is gone. Instead, all she sees is total devastation. "You have no future with a bloody kitchen-bound orphan."

Silence.

He isn't looking at her anymore, instead choosing to look anywhere but her - the floor, his shoes, the nautical map above her desk. She gapes at him, her mouth opening and closing as she struggles to find a response to the simple statement.

And with stunning clarity, it all makes sense.

He didn't apologize for the kiss because he didn't want her - he apologized to push her away. To protect himself.

Because he thought he couldn't be with her.

"You're a fool." She is shaking, her entire body vibrating with her anger. His eyes snap up and she watches as a sneer masks his face.

"Don't need the reminder, pet. I'm very aware I don't stand a chance in-"

"Shut up." She seethes and his mouth closes abruptly. He is looking at her warily and its quite possible this is the angriest she has ever been. She clenches her fists at her sides and takes a step towards him.

"You made me feel like I was nothing." Her voice is shaking but she can't bring herself to steady it. Anger courses through her veins like fire, black spots clouding her vision. His face blanches. "All because you thought up some bizarre scenario in which you aren't _worthy_ of my affection?"

Anger flashes in his eyes. "It's not a scenario, Swan, this is-"

"Shut. Up." She pauses, and he stares at her, mouth obediently silent. "You made me doubt myself! You made me think that everything I felt was one-sided! You hid things from me!"

"Of course I hid things from you!" He yells back and this is good. This is better. If he is yelling, she doesn't have to stop and think. Think about what all of this means. She is vaguely aware that their shouting is not at all inconspicuous, but she really couldn't care any less. "Do you think I wanted to tell you all about how I tried to fuck away my feelings for you?" She freezes but he plows on. "As previously mentioned, you are a royal, Emma."

"Stop saying that!" She screams. She hates the way he says it, like she's garbage beneath his feet.

"What do you want me to say? Do you want me to tell you how I think about you all the bloody time? Do you want me to tell you how I only sleep with other girls because I want you out of my bloody head, for just one peaceful moment? Your father found me in a bloody cave, Emma!" The sudden change in subject leaves her reeling and she gapes at him. He never spoke of how he came to them. All she knows is that one day, when she was very small, her father brought home a little boy. And ever since then, Killian had worked and lived in the castle.

The mask is back and she takes a step backwards. He advances on her. "That's right, poor little Killian Jones, left abandoned by his own father, and picked up out of pity by the King." His eyes are wild and impossibly bright, the blue in utter turmoil. "You're a royal and I am-" He swallows, self-loathing and disgust written all over his face. "I am _nothing_. I can't have you."

His chest is heaving and her shock gives way to a new wave of anger. "You can't have me? You can't _have_ me?" She pushes him hard against his chest and he stumbles backwards. "Like I am some possession to be tossed about and traded?" She pushes him again and he grabs both her wrists.

She looks up at him and she is just so _angry_ that fat, hot tears well in her eyes. "I make my own decisions, Killian. You of all people should understand that."

"Not this one." He mutters quietly. "Your ball-"

"Was my decision, in an effort to secure trade relations with another realm." She swallows. "My parents would never arrange my marriage, as theirs was never arranged. And if you bothered to speak to me about how you felt, instead of manipulating me and my emotions, you would know that."

Killian blinks and she wrenches her arm out of his grasp. "That doesn't mean I can court you, I'm still beneath you in –"

"Nothing about this kingdom is traditional." She seethes. "I go to the tavern, I take sword lessons, _seven hells_, I help in the fields with the harvest. Why wouldn't I be able to be courted by whoever I damn well please?"

They stare at each other silently and Emma absolutely _hates_ herself when she feels a tear slide down her cheek. She wipes it away angrily.

"A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets." She whispers brokenly. His entire body tightens at the familiar phrase, the one he was always toting as his personal motto.

She snorts, _yeah right._

And this is what it all comes down to.

He didn't want to fight for her.

"I think you should leave." She says.

She looks up at him and he suddenly starts, his eyes going from her feet to her face. Steely resolve settles on his features and he takes a step towards her. "No."

She is exhausted, and she is pretty sure she wants to cry some more. "Killian, I can't-"

"No." He says again, cutting her off and taking another step forward. He reaches out to her, one hand finding her hip, the other landing on the side of her neck. His eyes are drinking her in, wide and desperate and bright and-

"What are you doing?" She whispers and her heart is in her throat. He is so close to her. She can smell the sea on him - he must have been down at the docks.

His nose touches hers as he pulls her towards him, fingers flexing against her skin.

"I'm fighting for what I want." He whispers.

And then he is kissing her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Alright. So clearly I didn't anticipate the storyline heading in the way that it is. This is the final chapter, and an epilogue will come next. This nonsense came out of nowhere I promise. **

His lips are soft on hers, gentle but insistent. His fingers slide along her neck and into her hair, tangling in her curls and pulling her closer.

Her knees knock into his and they were _just_ yelling at each other, how in the hell-

He nips at her bottom lip and she wants to sigh and pull him closer – thread her fingers through his thick, black hair and pull him into her. But instead she puts both hands flat on his chest and pushes, his lips disconnecting from hers abruptly.

His eyes are dark and wild, blinking down at her in a daze. He tries to duck back in to her lips but her hands are firm on his chest.

"What are you doing?" And she hates that her voice is shaking, but her mind is spinning and she can't focus and this is just _too much_ and –

"I think it's fairly obvious, love." While his words are sarcastic, his face is most decidedly _not_, and one of his hands falls to the small of her back, thumb rubbing back and forth gently. The hand in her hair unclenches, flat against the base of her neck.

She tries to pull back but his hand keeps her where she is. She sighs. "You can't just –"

He cuts her off with his mouth on hers, aggressive and sure. His arm wraps around her back and she's pressed fully against him, hands trapped between her body and his. She can't help but respond, mouth opening under his when his tongue touches her bottom lip. He makes a small noise in the back of his throat and takes a step forward, her body moving with his easily.

He tilts his head and plunges his tongue into her mouth and her stomach clenches. She feels heat start to spread low in her belly, and it's just like the orchards all over again. Her hip hits the desk in the corner of the room and he shifts them slightly so that she is half resting on it, his body pressed tight against hers.

She pushes him back again. "Killian-"

His mouth slants over hers hungrily and she gasps when both hands find her hips and lift. She settles on the top of the desk, legs falling open, and he steps forward between them.

He's clearly trying to prove a point, and he's doing a damn good job of it.

Whatever _it_ is.

She moans when he pulls her forward, bodies colliding at just the right spot. He's hard beneath her, straining against his pants, and she feels a slight thrill that she's caused this reaction in him. She can't help it when she shifts her body against his, broken gasp leaving her throat at the heat that's spiking through her. His hands tighten on her hips and he nudges her chin up with his nose, exposing her throat and attacking her sensitive skin with hot, open-mouthed kisses.

She blinks up at the ceiling of her bedroom, trying to clear the haze in her head. They need to talk. She still doesn't understand what he _wants _from her, but he feels so good against her, and she's beginning to not care so much about the why, and much more about the how.

He's borderline frantic as he moves against her, teeth nipping, small little grunts and growls leaving him. His hand drifts from her hip to her thigh and she can't get her mind to shut down, even as his fingers curl around the back of her knee. All of his words from earlier are twisting and turning in a confused mess in her head, made worse by the way he's moving against her, and she can't breathe, can't think-

"Gods, Emma." He's panting against her neck, hand clenching in the fabric of her nightgown, pulling it up to expose the tops of her knees. "I want you."

She freezes against him even as his words cause goose bumps to erupt over her skin. His explanation of _I'm fighting for what I want_ melds with _I want you_ and she feels her stomach drop to her toes. She swallows thickly as realization hits her hard and fast.

He wants her, but not all of her. He just wants _this_, this pulsing physicality that surges between them.

He wants to bed her, just like he did her maid.

Hot pressure burn behind her eyes and she feels so _stupid_. She worms her hands between them and braces them on his arms.

"Killian." He ignores her, mouth firmly attached to her pulse point. Her eyes flutter when his teeth graze her skin but she persists, hands gripping him and pushing him away.

"Killian, stop."

He pulls back (finally), hands resting on her knees. "What? What's wrong?" He swallows hard and blinks rapidly, pupils wide and black. His hand comes to cup her cheek when he sees the look on her face, eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

"Did I hurt you?"

She bites her lip.

No.

_Yes._

"What are you doing?" It's a rough whisper, voice broken and sad. She wants him, _Gods she wants him so bad_, but not like this. She doesn't want to be used like this.

"What do you mean?" His voice is soft, and his hand is warm where it rests back against her neck.

She feels frustration bubble up inside her. "This!" She gestures wildly between them. "What is this?"

He just stares at her. "Because Killian, I can't just fuck you." He winces at the vulgarity as it tumbles from her mouth and she thinks it's funny, the way he always winces when she says that, because he's the one with the vocabulary problem. She surges on. "I can't do this with you. You're my best friend, you mean too much to me. You can't just sleep with me and –"

She stops, swallows, focuses on his chest. He shifts in front of her. "And what?"

"And disappear." She finishes. "I can't be just another conquest to you."

His entire body goes eerily still, thumb halting its soothing motion against her neck. "Is that what you think of me?"

She shrugs and locks her eyes on the fabric of his vest.

"Bloody hell lass, have you not been listening to a word I've said?"

Her eyes blink back up to see his brimming with anger. He raises both eyebrows expectantly. "I literally just informed you of my feelings for you. Seconds ago. And you still believe that I'm trying to engage in a casual fuck?"

"You said that you were fighting for what you want." She responds haughtily, eyes narrowing on his. "And then lifted me onto a desk and spread my legs. What the hell am I supposed to think, idiot?"

His eyes flash, dark and dangerous. "You're supposed to believe me when I tell you things."

"I do believe you, I just don't want to buy what you're selling."

"Oh, I'm _selling_ sex now? Are you calling me a whore, Swan?"

"If the shoe fits."

They glare at each other in silence and then the corners of his lips twitch. She feels hers do the same but she refuses to give in and grin at him. His eyes soften and his thumb resumes its gentle caress against her neck.

"Emma, the reason I slept with all those girls is because I have feelings for you." He heaves a heavy sigh like a bone-weary man and looks at her earnestly. She can tell he isn't lying. "I didn't think I had any sort of chance with you, and I was too weak to push you away, so I distracted myself with meaningless conquests. _You_ are not a meaningless conquest."

He sighs again and takes hold of her hand. "In fact, if it makes you feel more secure about the whole bloody thing, we don't have to do anything remotely physical with one another until-"

"Is it true?" She cuts him off, not really liking the direction that was heading anyway. She bites her lip and looks up at him, fingers twisting with his. She feels a warmth in her chest that has nothing to do with the way he was kissing her and _everything_ to do with the way he's looking at her. "Do I really mean something to you?"

"Emma." Those eyes of his hit a deeper shade of blue and the warmth in her chest blossoms and expands. "You mean everything to me."

-/-

"Are you planning on asking my parents to formally court me?" She says it casually but really she's been freaking out about it for the past week and a half. Ever since that night in her bedroom, their relationship had taken a nose dive onto the romantic side, but they have kept it strictly between them.

Everything was the same as it was before – best friends who spent every waking moment with each other - just now they made out furiously every chance they got. It was far less frequent than she preferred, for the castle was hardly ever vacant. They had to get creative- Killian pulling her into a weaponry closet after sword lessons, laying her out on the table in the kitchens during his solo-shift, one particularly fun afternoon in the garden shrubbery. She really didn't see the need for the whole _holding off on anything remotely physical_ thing.

He quirks an eyebrow at her from across the booth, eyes glancing at the people around them casually. He leans forward, elbows resting on the table.

"You wish to have this conversation now? Here?" He motions around the busy tavern and she rolls her eyes before focusing intently back on him.

"Were you even planning on asking my parents?" Her voice dips and she watches as his face goes blank and he ducks down to pick at the wood of the table.

"Aye." He supplies. He peeks up at her. "After your ball."

"After my ball? Why after my ball?"

He pauses and takes a sip of his drink, eyes firmly on hers. He shrugs. "I figured you should be unattached for your ball."

He says _unattached_ with a slight mocking tone and his eyes are hard. Her face falls.

"You still think I'm going to come out of that ball, completely head over heels in love with some nobleman?"

By the look on his face that's exactly what he thinks. His lips twist in a grimace and he takes another (much larger) sip of his drink. "They can give you much more than I can, Emma."

She wishes they weren't in this crowded bar because she wants to kiss him, run her thumbs under his eyes and wipe that sad look off his face. She also wants to smack him for being so god-damned stupid.

She decides to use her words instead. "I just want you, Killian."

The smile he gives her might be better than a kiss anyway.

-/-

If she thought King George was bad, his son is infinitely worse. James is arrogant and annoying, definitely sexist, and hasn't looked up from her cleavage once the entire time they've been dancing together.

She bites the inside of her cheek and forces a smile when they pass by King George on the dance floor. He smiles serenely at them, but she sees the undercurrent of something else there. Before she can get too good a look, James has her turned around again and she loses him in the crowd.

He's droning on about his horses and the last hunt they went on and she lets her eyes drift over the people filling the grand hall. Her mother has done an excellent job pulling together a ball in such short notice – the decorations are flawless, the food is amazing, and everyone seems to be having a great time.

Everyone but her.

She sighs and tries not to look too bored as James twists and turns her in a waltz around the floor. She feels a flash of heat when her gaze lands on Killian, dressed in the same navy blue finery as the other servants. He's watching her intently, blue eyes locked on her face. He smirks slightly when he sees the grimace she's sporting and she has to forcibly remind herself that sticking out her tongue is not becoming of a princess.

"When we marry-" She jolts back to James when she hears _that_ particular phrase, losing her footing and almost tripping them both.

He recovers smoothly and _finally_ raises his eyes from her cleavage, shooting her a condescending look.

"Yes, when we marry. Pity you had to lead all these other slobs on, but I must say I do appreciate the view." He shoots a leer at her breasts and her skin crawls. She wants to twist out of his arms, but he holds her firm, grip unforgiving on her rib cage.

"Nuh-uh, Princess, dance isn't over yet." His hand squeezes her ribcage and she winces. She drops the pretty Princess act and glares up at him.

"I don't remember agreeing to marry you."

He grins, wide and feral and she flinches at the coldness in his sharp grey eyes. "As you'll come to find out, I don't need permission to get what I want."

The song ends and he releases her, bowing to her with a roll of his eyes. She doesn't bother to curtsy in response, too wrapped up in his thinly veiled threat. Luckily her father sweeps in before another suitor can, wrapping her up in his warms arms and turning them both to a far corner of the dance floor.

"Are you alright?"

She meets his concerned gaze with a frown. "I don't like James - something about him isn't right."

He squeezes her hand gently and nods, leading them around the perimeter of the hall. "Don't worry, like your mother and I said - this is merely a formality."

She sighs heavily. "How much longer?"

His eyes sparkle down at her and she feels a smile twitch in response.

-/-

She stands by the edge of the party, tucked slightly in shadow, just needing a moment, _a single moment_, to breath. Her feet hurt, her cheeks ache from fake smiling, and she simply cannot talk to one more socially awkward teenage boy about his sword collection. She cannot.

Warm hands settle on her hips and pull her more firmly into the shadows and she almost squeaks in surprise. A deep chuckle sounds in her ear and she relaxes immediately, turning in his arms and giving him a glare.

"Now you decide to rescue me, when I'm blissfully alone?"

He grins, blue eyes dancing in the moonlight that streams in from the windows. He lets his gaze drift over her warmly and it's so very different than when James did. He tucks a curl behind her ear and lets his hand linger on her skin.

"You look beautiful, Swan."

She blushes and busies herself by tugging on the navy blue coat he's wearing. It fits him snugly and makes his eyes seem unfairly bluer.

"You don't look bad yourself, Jones."

He rolls his eyes and leans in close to her, nose skimming under her ear. Her hands clench in his coat as her eyes drift shut and she knows this is stupid. There are hundreds of people mere feet away and getting caught here, now, like this, would be catastrophic.

He seems to understand the situation though because he only allows himself a quick peck on her skin (she shivers, god damn him) before pulling back. He smiles at her with mischief in his eyes and she feels her stomach clench.

"Meet me in the orchards when the ball ends."

His lips brush her knuckles and he's gone.

-/-

She manages to get away from the castle easily enough. There are too many people streaming out of the castle for anyone to notice her, and she keeps to the shadows as she flees to the orchards. She smiles as she ducks under the cover of the trees, feeling free in the night air.

Her hand runs along the bark of the nearest tree as she turns and waits for Killian. Her eyes scan the trees and suddenly, a dark figure emerges. She grins and steps towards him, but stops short when his face comes into the moonlight.

It's not Killian.

It's James.

"Were you expecting the kitchen boy?" He sneers and her blood runs cold at the dark look marring his face. Her chuckles at her shock, taking a leisurely step closer. "Oh yes, I saw you two. You looked quite cozy."

He takes another step forward and she takes a step back, not liking the way his eyes are trailing down her body. She shivers and he grins wider at the movement.

"You see, I saw you duck out in the main hall, and decided I would like one more _dance_ with you."

She swallows thickly and her eyes dance along the tree line, but snap back to him when he takes another step forward.

She gives him the most sarcastic smile she can muster. "Sorry, fresh out of dances for the night. I suggest you return to your carriage and go home."

She takes another step back and hits into a tree trunk. He moves forward quickly and traps her back against it, arms locked on either side of her hips. "What a dirty secret I stumbled upon." His head tilts to the side as his eyes drift across her chest and she fights the urge to cross her arms and cover herself. He lifts his hand and runs the back of his fingers down her bare arm. "The Princess fucking the help."

She smacks him hard across the face and it shocks them both. He stares down at her with wide eyes and her heart slams an uneasy staccato against her rib cage.

_Run, Emma. Danger, Emma. _

His pupils dilate and a grin stretches his mouth.

"Oh, you're going to be _fun_."

She tries to push him away and run but he's too quick. He lands a quick hit to her ribcage that has her doubling over and gasping for air. He straightens her back up with force, back slamming against the rough wood of the tree trunk. He bares his teeth and then his mouth is closing over hers, clammy and chapped.

She keeps her mouth pursed shut and wrenches her head to the side, disgust rolling through her and making her nauseous.

_Just hold on, Emma. Killian is coming. _

She struggles against him, even as his fingers close around her throat. Lancelot appears unbidden in her mind, his calm brown eyes urging her on, his voice steady and deep.

_Use it, Emma._

She channels her fear and desperation and kicks out with her knee, landing a solid hit to his stomach. He wheezes, but doesn't release his grip, instead tightening it. Black spots cloud her vision and her head swims in lightness as she tries to breathe.

"You bitch." He pants out, face red and angry. He back hands her hard with his free hand, releasing her from the tree at the same time, and she falls to the ground in a cluttered heap, gasping for breath. She crawls forward on her hands and knees but he's right behind her, hand gripping her hair forcefully and yanking her back. The bobby pins her mother painstakingly pressed into her hair earlier fly out around them, littering the ground like fallen stars. She bites her lip hard when he smacks her again, this time with a closed fist across her jaw.

Blood fills her mouth, sharp and metallic, as he flips her over, thighs on either side of her hips. He pins her down with his body and she thrusts up with her left hand, hitting him hard in the jaw. He chuckles down at her, twisting the ring on his left hand inwards. She watches with wide eyes as he flips it open, exposing a tiny needle. She struggles harder.

"Pity, I wanted you to enjoy this." And then he's pressing the needle in the exposed skin of her chest and she screams, loud and shrill, as white-hot heat sears through her. Blinding pain crashes over her in waves and the last thing she feels before darkness takes her is cold hands on her legs.

-/-

There's so much noise.

There is shouting, and screaming, and crying, and the large bells that sit on the walls of the castle to warn the kingdom of danger are tolling slowly, their deep and somber ringing a warning to the people.

She idly wonders if it's because of her.

She tries to open her eyes but her body is too heavy and she can't move. She tries to lift her arm but she actually can't and the lethargy seeps away and makes room for panic. She feels warm hands on her and she tries to move, tries to do anything, but she can't, stuck in the darkness.

Her heart slams in her chest as the voices become clearer around her.

"Doc, is she-" The wavering voice of her mother, terrified. She feels the warm hands push back her hair and she calms fractionally knowing that she is no longer in the orchards.

"She's been poisoned by Moltov-Root. It temporarily paralyzes the victim before-" The dwarf stops abruptly and she can hear Snow swallow.

"Before what?" It's a hoarse whisper, spoken on a sob. Emma feels hot, wet tears land on her arm.

"The paralysis doesn't extend to the mind, our Princess is still very aware of all that is going on around her. I can make an antidote and we will administer it. It should bring her back to us." She feels Doc's comforting hands on her opposite arm as he leans in close. "We will bring you back, my dear girl."

The hands leave her and Emma feels a warm pressure on her forehead, hair ticking her shoulders. Her mother's voice is soft and gentle when it drifts over her.

"Don't leave me, my darling. Stay with us."

She can hear yelling, muffled in the background, but it's too far away to understand. Her mind is scattered, thoughts drifting in and out, none staying for long. It's hard to concentrate on everything around her, nothing but the steady tolling of the bells keeping her focus for longer than a few seconds.

Doc returns to her side and there are hands on her jaw, pulling it open. There is a hesitation and then Doc's voice drifts over her.

"I'm so sorry, Princess."

A thick substance enters her mouth and slides down her throat and its effects are immediate. Her eyes fly open as she heaves a gasping breath, swallowing the rest of the substance on instinct with a grimace. She manages one look at her mother, eyes red rimmed and wide, and Doc, face set in grim acknowledgement, before a strange tingling begins to work its way through her limbs.

"What-" She begins but cuts off in a groan when pain strikes like lightening. She arches on the bed as it shoots through her, feeling like hot iron rods are being forced down her bones. It intensifies and she curls inward, trying to wrench away from it.

"What is happening?" Snow shouts and Emma claws at her body, needing the pain to go away. She must be burning, the hot inferno taking over.

She screams and screams, her voice cracking and breaking. The door to her room slams open and she sees a pair of broken blue eyes and then nothing at all.

-/-

When she wakes again, the room is dark. The bells have stopped, and its blissfully silent in her quarters. Her throat is sore and her body feels like it's been thrown down _multiple _hills and she struggles to remember how she got here in the first place.

James.

The Orchards.

Oh God, _Killian_.

She shifts her head abruptly, scanning the bodies huddled around her bed asleep. Her mother and father are tucked against one another to her left, sharing the chaise lounge that was usually placed beneath her window. Doc is reclined in her favorite arm chair, snoring lightly - Happy, Grumpy, and Dopey taking various places on the floor behind him. Lancelot sits on the floor, head tilted back against her mattress, sword at his side. Finally, her eyes land on Killian, body bent forward, forehead resting on the mattress next to her hand.

Her fingers inch towards his wild dark hair, wincing in pain at even the tiniest movement. She sighs in relief when her hand rakes across his scalp, his hair soft under her palm. She turns on her side with a groan and curls her body around his, unconsciousness wrapping around her like a warm blanket.

**Epilogue next! I also am toying with the idea of a one-shot series with these Lieutenant Duckling babies. I like writing them, and there are a lot of things that could be expanded upon in a series of unrelated one-shots (such as that weaponry closet, hey-oh). Let me know your thoughts on the matter in the reviews! And thank you for reading and sticking with me! **


	5. Chapter 5

A hand touches her face and panic jolts her body upwards.

"Easy, my girl." Doc's voice is soothing as he holds his hands up in front of her in supplication. She relaxes fractionally, eyes darting around the room as her heart beats quickly in her chest. Her bedroom is bright with the sunlight that streams in through the windows and she lets out a shuddering breath, wide eyes falling back to the dwarf.

A frown twists his features and Emma can't help but notice how much _older_ he looks like this. He sighs and sits in the chair next to the bed, the one she vaguely remembers seeing him in when she woke last night. Her eyes dance around the room before landing back on Doc and he gives her a small, sad smile.

"I thought it would be best if it was just you and I when you woke. But don't worry –" He inclines his head to her bedroom door and his smile turns much more genuine. "They aren't very far. Now, how are you feeling?"

She shifts and winces sharply. She wants to say _it feels like I've been run over by a herd of horses and then stabbed in the throat _but she doesn't think she'll be able to manage all that.

"Headache." She tries to say, but her throat is sore and scratchy and her words are barely intelligible. She puts her hand to her throat and winces and Doc's face contorts back into a frown.

"Don't talk." He says and she sighs softly, nodding slightly. He pulls himself from her chair and reaches into his large bag at the foot of her bed. He pulls out some herbs and small bottles and she watches as he carefully mixes them together in a large cup.

He peers up at her from over his glasses. "This drink will soothe your throat and make it easier to speak, although I suggest you do so as little as possible. It will also ease your pain a bit." He hands the drink over to her and she looks down at it skeptically, remembering very well what happened the last time she took a drink from Doc. He seems to as well and he gives her an abashed grin. "Don't worry, my girl. This has no side-effects."

She tips the cup back slowly and takes a tentative slip. The liquid tastes strange, but her throat feels better almost immediately, and the ache in her limbs lessens slightly. Doc watches her carefully as she relaxes back into the pillows of her bed, drinking from the cup greedily.

"I dressed your wounds while you were sleeping." He begins quietly and she hands him the now empty cup. She notices a thick white bandage on her outstretched arm and suddenly everything comes flashing back – James and the orchards, fighting him off, pain, and then darkness. Her entire body locks down and Doc swallows hard.

She remembers hands on her legs – cold and clammy and _wrong. _James' intentions had been clear in the orchard – he wanted her.

"Did he – " It feels like rocks are lodged in her throat and she inhales sharply, borderline hysterical. Her breathing accelerates and Doc looks panicked but she can't remember much – everything is a blur – and if he touched her, if he _ruined_ her –

Doc shakes his head hard.

"No." His grey eyes darken and cloud for a moment before he sits carefully in the armchair. He shakes his head again. "No, my dear, he did not. Killian came upon the clearing just as the poison took hold of you."

She sighs audibly and wipes carefully under her eyes, embarrassed at how quickly she became frantic. Her heart drops in her chest when she realizes what Killian must have seen – what he must have thought. She bites her lip and stares hard at her bed sheets.

"Most of your injuries are cuts and bruises. I don't want to use the term minor, but you will heal from them just fine. You have two broken ribs." He shifts in the chair as she presses lightly over her torso. There's a thick bandage wrapped around her stomach, under her nightgown, and she feels her cheeks flush hot.

"Your mother." He whispers kindly and she is slightly relieved. She trusts Doc but the idea of anyone touching her right now makes her skin crawl.

"The poison, however, will leave its mark on you." She flinches as she remembers the blinding pain as James pressed his ring into her skin. Her fingers brush over her collarbone and she feels the web of raised skin there. It feels like an intricate lace pattern – thin lines twisting together over one another. She quirks an eyebrow at Doc and he nods sadly.

"Permanent, I'm afraid. The poison almost took you from us. I know it doesn't feel like it right now, but you were very lucky."

She wants to snort. _Lucky_. Nothing about the way she feels right now feels lucky. Both of their attention is diverted towards the door when there's a light scuffling against the wood. She can hear muted voices, and then silence. She looks back to Doc.

"They're quite impatient to make sure you're alright. Shall I let them in?"

Her chest feels heavy and she doesn't know how she's going to explain all of this to her parents – it was her own stupid fault for slipping off alone in the orchards – but she's anxious to see familiar faces, one in particular. She nods and Doc shuffles over to the door, reaching up and twisting the handle.

There's a whispered conversation with whoever is on the other side and then her father is striding through the door, Snow close behind. Lancelot and the rest of the dwarves slip in behind them, Doc sliding out into the hallway and shutting the door behind him.

No Killian.

Her heart pounds in her chest.

She idly wonders if she imagined him last night.

She's distracted from her thoughts when her father comes to a lurching stop in front of her. She watches as he clenches his hands tight by his sides and her heart breaks at the look on his face. His jaw his tight and his eyes are hard – fearsome in his intensity. But his gaze softens the longer he looks at her, and he falls to his knees by her side.

"Emma." He whispers. His hands hover over her and she realizes with a turn of her stomach that he's afraid to touch her. Tears fill her eyes as she reaches for his much larger hand.

"Hey, Dad." She whispers back and he gives her a weak and turbulent smile as his fingers wrap around hers. The contact makes her uneasy, but she pushes it away. Her mother takes the chair Doc abandoned and sighs heavily, eyes red rimmed and puffy. Emma reaches for her hand and Snow's fingers twists with hers, a broken sob escaping her lips. They sit like that for a moment, huddled together, taking one another in.

David is the first to lean back, keeping his fingers wrapped around Emma's but raking his other hand roughly through his cropped hair. He looks at her carefully, and wipes a tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

"Can you tell us what happened?"

She inhales sharply. She doesn't want to speak of it, doesn't want to even think of it ever again.

"It helps." Lancelot's voice is a deep rumble from the edge of the bed. His eyes are soft as he gazes at her and he shrugs. "When something terrible happens to you, it helps to get it out of your head. I assure you."

She knows he speaks from experience so she sighs heavily and scrubs her hands roughly against her eyes. She winces at the dull ache that shoots through her with the motion, and belatedly realizes she must have a black eye.

She frowns. "I was in the orchards and he came out of the trees. He must have followed me from the castle." Her voice is rough and scratchy but the drink Doc made her is working wonders because the pain is minimal compared to before. She swallows hard.

"Who?" Her father asks carefully and she looks at him in surprise.

"James. I thought you knew." He nods, eyes darkening slightly, the tightness returning to his jaw. His eyes flicker to Lancelot before looking back to Emma, nodding for her to continue. She closes her eyes and rubs at her temple, trying to remember.

"He threatened me. He said terrible things." She remembers what he said to her about Killian and she shudders. "I smacked him." A ghost of a smile passes over her father's lips. "He got angry and pushed me back against a tree. He hit me and then he-" She breathes in sharp as she remembers his mouth closing over hers, his hips pressing tight against her own, his arousal straining against her leg.

She averts her eyes and looks down at the blankets. "He kissed me." She mutters and Snow stills out of the corner of her eye. She watches as her father's hand clenches so hard on the bedspread, his knuckles turn white. "I kneed him in the gut, and he fell back. I tried to get away – I swear it – I tried to fight him off, but he was so strong and – "

She cuts off in a high-pitched wheeze and she knows she's panicking, but she can't get her heart to calm. Fingers soothe over her hair and her entire body jolts against the contact. She pushes back hard against the headboard and when she opens her eyes, she sees dark trees and cold eyes. She blinks again and she's back in her bedroom. Her father and mother are looking at her in concern and she anchors herself.

She is safe. She is safe. She is safe.

She breathes deep. She hopes to the Gods above that Lancelot is right because she's hardly telling them anything at all and it's still too much. "We fell to the ground and I was trying to crawl away. He pulled me back and that's when he poisoned me." She sees the question in their eyes. "He had a ring. He twisted it around and flipped it open and there was a needle. He pushed it into my skin and – "

She lets out a shaking breath. She feels moisture on her cheeks and when did she even start crying? "And I don't remember anything else." She whispers brokenly. Her father opens his mouth but the door to her room opens and suddenly Killian is standing there.

His arm is slung tight across his chest and he's got a terrible, jagged cut on his cheek right below his left eye and there's a bright blue bruise on his jaw but his eyes – Gods, his eyes – he's staring at her like she isn't real.

She exhales, finally able to breathe again.

"How are you feeling?" Snow asks and Killian visibly jumps, eyes flickering over to Snow for a moment before locking back on Emma. One of the dwarves pulls a chair to the end of the bed where Lancelot is and gestures for him to take it. Killian nods gratefully and limps over, moving slowly.

"Doc fixed me up well and good." He says with a grin, but the grin turns into a grimace as he sits. Emma blinks at him from across the bed and he gives her a half-hearted wink.

"Don't fret, love. You should see the other guy."

Lancelot snorts behind Killian, but David's face is still stern. His body is tight and coiled and he looks about ready to snap. "Killian." He grunts and she watches as Killian sighs heavily. "Tell us what happened when you came upon Emma."

Killian scratches at the back of his head and Emma knows he has no more desire to relive this anymore than she does. He meets her gaze, speaking softly. "I was halfway through the orchards when I heard you scream." He pauses and the look on his face is something she's never seen before. It causes her stomach to plummet and she wants to reach out to him, but her body is aching and her parents are here and it's not the place.

"When I came into the clearing, James was on top of you. You weren't moving, you were so still, I didn't know if – " He sighs again, frustrated with himself.

"I shouted at him to get off you, but it was like the git didn't even hear me. He just kept on-" Killian cuts off abruptly, eyes flickering to David and then back to Emma.

She knows it must be bad if he's thinking about his words.

Her father senses the hesitancy and if possible, grows tenser. Snow reaches for his hand but he brushes her off, standing up and pacing the room like a caged animal. "Continue." He barks and everyone in the room jumps at the command.

"He was preoccupied with _himself_." Killian mutters with disgust and Emma closes her eyes tight. Everything in her quakes at what almost was.

There is a loud crash and Emma's eyes slam open to see her tall bookcase shattered on the floor. She barely catches her father wrenching open the door to her bedroom before it's slammed shut again. There is another crash from further down the hallway and Snow half-stands.

"No." Lancelot mutters, eyes fixed on the door. "I'll go. Stay with Emma."

Snow nods and Lancelot slips out of her room. Her eyes dart back to Killian and he's still staring steadfast at her, blue eyes fixed in concentration.

Her stomach flips and she feels _warm_ and she wants to roll her eyes that he still manages to evoke that reaction when she feels (and probably looks) like absolute shit. His lips twitch.

"What happened?" She manages with a gesture to his arm and face and he shrugs.

"We fought." His eyes are hard and dark and Emma wonders what sort of things James said to him. "I managed to knock him out and that's when I grabbed you. I brought you to the gates, told the guards to alert the King and Queen – mind you, I did not tell them to sound the bloody war bells." He rolls his eyes at that and Emma remembers the deep tolling of the bells on the walls. Apparently they _were_ for her. She sighs and watches as a warm blush climbs his cheekbones and he shuffles in his chair.

"And then, uh, I passed out as well."

She blinks at him. "You passed out?"

His blush burns hotter and Snow takes Emma's free hand carefully. "Emma, darling – Killian dislocated his shoulder. The orchards are a far way."

She looks back to Killian and he's looking down at his knees, black hair falling heavily over his eyes. He looks ashamed and embarrassed and she wants to cry because he _saved_ her and he's upset he passed out from pain? Sometimes he's so ridiculous. Her eyes prick at the idea of what he must of endured carrying her completely unconscious and paralyzed body the long distance between the castle walls and the orchard.

"Thank you." She wheezes out and his head snaps back up. He gives her a weak smile.

"Anything for you, lass."

-/-

She doesn't sleep. She tries, but every time she closes her eyes, she sees a malicious grin and feels cold hands on her thighs. Eventually she stops trying.

She hasn't seen Killian in days, but she really hasn't tried that either. She's kept to her quarters – the stares in the hallway too much for her to handle. Everyone looks at her like she's a broken doll and its beginning to drive her mad.

He hasn't come to her, and she tells herself it doesn't hurt.

She sighs and regards her reflection in the mirror, touching at the bruise under her eye carefully. Her body is slowly healing itself, but she's certainly looked better. She has a deep bruise over her left eye and a matching one along her jaw. Her lip is split and there are yellowing bruises on her throat in the shape of fingers. She doesn't let her gaze linger on those.

She leans closer to the mirror, tilting her neck back to get a better look at the top of her chest. There's a thin web of scars starting from where the poison entered her body and branching outwards, the pattern of her veins burned forever into her skin. Doc says the poison did just that – burned her – from the inside out. The bruises and cuts would heal, but the scars would be forever.

She has a feeling he was talking about much more than the physical ones.

She bends down carefully and lifts the hem of her nightgown, shucking it up around her waist to look at her ribs. The thick bandage covers most of the damage, but the purple bruise peeks out around the material. She sighs and lowers her gown slightly, peering at the bruises on her legs. Those are the marks that haunt her the most.

Just like her throat, she has two distinct imprints of hands on her thighs. She sees them every time she bathes, feels the unforgiving clench of his hands on her every time. Her stomach rolls and she frowns at her reflection.

She's startled from her thoughts when her door swings open and she sees a familiar mop of dark hair elbow into the room.

"Hey, Granny told me to bring you some tea before I left. And I thought we could - "

The words die on his lips as his eyes find her and he freezes. She drops her skirt, but it's too late. He's seen.

"Talk." He finishes lamely and he's looking at her like everyone else – like she's damaged goods, broken beyond repair.

"Stop it." She whispers and he looks down at the ground between them. "Don't do that with me."

He places her tea on her desk and runs his good hand through his hair, a nervous reaction. "Do what?"

She reaches for her robe and gingerly pulls it on. "You know what. You're looking at me like I'm pathetic."

He blinks up at her in bewilderment and she plows on, all of her emotions crystalizing into anger. "So glad you could finally fit me into your schedule." She spits and she watches as his shoulders tense.

"It wasn't like that, Emma, I-"

"If you wanted to end this, you could have told me." She shouts and his entire body jolts. Her chest is heaving and she's a bit lightheaded, but she makes sure to keep eye contact with him. He takes a step forward and sighs heavily.

"Why are we always in these situations?" And then he grins. The bastard _grins_.

Her face heats as a fresh wave of anger surges through her. "And just what are you smiling about?"

He chuckles and reaches forward, looping his fingers around her wrist. She tries to wrench away, but he's persistent. "Try not to punch me, love. I don't think either of us could manage it at the moment."

She huffs and he releases her hand, sliding his palm along her arm, tracking the movement with his eyes. "We constantly find ourselves doubting the other, thinking the worst of ourselves. I'm quite guilty of it as well." His blue eyes lock back on hers. "I did not come to you because I felt responsible for what happened. It was I who told you to meet me in the orchards."

All of the anger leaves her in a rush and she brushes her fingers lightly over the cut on his face. He lets out a deep, shuddering breath, closing his eyes. "And it was you who saved me."

His fingers find hers and he raises the back of her hand to his lips. "So I will forgive myself-" He begins, blue eyes sad. "If you stop thinking of yourself as damaged goods. Deal?"

She's surprised at his ability to read her, but then again she's not. He's always been able to gauge her thoughts and emotions from a simple look. She gives him a tired smile.

"I'll try."

"Good." He responds and his eyes drift to her lips. They're standing so close, sharing the same air. She can feel the energy humming between them and it feels like it's been _forever._ She wants for him to kiss her, to have him claim her as _his._

"Killian." She whispers and his head ducks down softly, lips meeting hers in a gentle kiss. His lips are careful, caressing hers in a sweet dance. He is slow and soft and everything she needs and she sighs, her mind going deliciously blank. All of her fears, all of her nightmares, disappear instantly.

He pulls back much too soon and runs his nose along hers. "I thought you were lost to me." He whispers and he sounds so broken – her fingers tighten their hold on him.

"Never." She replies and he leans back fully.

"You've not been sleeping." He mutters and his thumb swipes under her eye. She melts into his grip and rests her forehead against his chin. His good arm comes around her, pulling her in close.

"Neither have you." She mutters petulantly and he chuckles lightly, stepping forward, closer to her bed.

"Aye, too right lass." Her knees hit the back of the bed and she sits down lightly. He gazes at her, fingers pushing an errant lock of hair behind her ear. He gives her a shy smile, and her heart jumps in her chest. "I should leave." He whispers.

But he makes no move towards the door and her fingers find his.

"Stay." She replies.

He nods after a beat and she scoots back carefully in the bed, shucking her robe and sliding under the covers. He follows, adjusting so there's no pressure on his wounded arm, his chest pressed tight against her back. His fingers slide gently over her side and grip hers, pulling her even tighter against him.

His breath is warm on her neck as he buries his face in her curls.

And for the first time since James came out of the trees, she feels safe.

"I love you, Emma." His voice is a tremulous whisper and she smiles, squeezing his fingers between her own.

She sleeps.

-/-

**Epilogue**

She adjusts the load in her arms carefully, pressing her back to the worn wood of the kitchen door and pushing it open. She grins when she spots him and she is immediately transported back – back to the day when she had been so riddled with anxiety over seeing him.

He's standing at the same countertop - sleeves rolled up over his strong forearms as he quickly and carefully peels potatoes. A grin curves her lips as she takes him in.

Hi blue naval jacket is tossed over the far end of the table, his white vest unbuttoned and loose against his broad chest as he works through his stack of vegetables. His skin is darker, more bronze, no doubt from weeks of exposure on the deck of his ship. She lets her eyes rake over his jaw line, the rough stubble that covers him, and she feels her belly clench.

Gods, she missed him.

She must have moaned or something equally embarrassing because his head snaps up and a breathtaking grin stretches his features. She sees nothing but love and adoration in his bright blue eyes and the burning need is quickly replaced by a glowing warmth.

"Hey." She whispers as she walks over to him. "Were you going to say hello? Not a very fitting way to greet your wife after a long journey at sea."

She pouts and he grins wider, putting down his knife and meeting her around the table. His rough fingertips skim her cheek and she sighs happily, letting her eyes drift closed.

"Granny informed me the Princess was taking a much needed nap." She opens her eyes to see him looking down at her with concern. His free hand comes up to rest on her swollen belly, thumb rubbing a gentle pattern back and forth. "Are you alright, love?"

"Better now." She whispers and the small form in her arm squirms against her. She raises both eyebrows at Killian and runs a soothing hand over the toddler in her arms. "Your children are exhausting me."

Another breathtaking grin curves his lips upwards as he reaches out for Liam, pulling the still sleeping boy into his arms. Emma smiles and watches him as he presses a kiss to Liam's wild blonde curls, finding a seat at the counter he had been working at.

She rubs her hands in a soothing circuit over her belly as the baby kicks and she closes her eyes, tilting her head back. Apparently the baby knew Daddy was home, too.

She opens her eyes when she hears Killian's deep, rumbling laugh. Liam is awake, little arms clung tight around his father's neck. He's giggling loud, his voice small and light and _perfect_ and Emma wonders how she got so lucky.

They had been so stupid – _she _had been so stupid – circling round and round one another for half of their lives. They had wasted so much precious time worrying and assuming – she often wonders what would of happened if she never gave him a black eye that day in the courtyard.

After that night in her quarters, Killian had surprised her by attending an open court. She had been sitting between her parents and he had shuffled in, anxious and nervous and falling to a knee in front of her father. He had asked to formally court her, and her father just blinked down at him smugly.

"Killian, you've been courting her since you were six."

She's pulled from her thoughts when two identical pairs of bright blue eyes fix on her from across the kitchen. Killian whispers something in Liam's ear and sets him down on the floor, tiny legs running to Emma. She scoops him up as smoothly as she can with the size of her stomach and Liam wiggles against her with another set of giggles.

She can't help but smile in response at her perfect boy.

He leans close to her ear, like he's got a secret. She plays along, tilting her head against his.

"Daddy says you look boo-tee-ful." Liam whispers loudly in her ear, pronouncing out the word in three syllables and Emma blushes. Killian just winks and grins and she rolls her eyes.

She tilts her head to the stack of potatoes. "Back to your kitchen duties, Captain Cutlery."

He catches her hand on the way - lifting it to his lips and pressing a soft kiss there. "As you wish, my love."

(And when Liam mimics his Dad, lifting her hand with both of his tiny ones and pressing a sloppy wet kiss to her knuckles with a little wiggle of his eyebrows – she knows she's in for hell when he becomes a teenager.

Killian's loud laugh confirms it.)


End file.
